


Pain is a Virus

by drainspoon



Series: Newt's Life Work aka his Angst Collection [8]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst and Feels, Attempted Murder, Backstory, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cars, Child Abandonment, Childhood Friends, Cults, Dark, Dark Past, Experimentation, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Human Experimentation, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Minecraft, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Neglect, Police, Protective Siblings, Repressed Memories, Self-Sacrifice, Single Parents, Slime, The Nether (Minecraft), Trust, doc and stress are siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drainspoon/pseuds/drainspoon
Summary: Amongst the players of Hermitcraft, the origin of mob-player hybrids is unknown. Some believe they are simply born that way, others consider magic intervention. However every thought that slips off their tongues in regard to such a matter is dead wrong. So, you might ask, how is a mob-player hybrid made then? The answer is simple.Pain.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Steffen Mossner | Docm77 & John | BdoubleO100, Steffen Mossner | Docm77 & Stressmonster101, ZombieCleo & Joe Hills, impulseSV & Tango Tek & Zedaph (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Newt's Life Work aka his Angst Collection [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924231
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. You Fight it with Everything you Have until it Subsides.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a short moment, she mused the ethics of faking her death--just for a reaction.

Crimson spilled past her lips, past her bared teeth. Her pale skin was marred with bruises, purples and red blotches blooming upon her skin. A sole scarlet split cut through the muddle and dripped down the length of her arm, rolling along the bends of her muscle and pooling at the dip of her palm. It glistened in the sunlight and it muffled her cries. It was everything and nothing and, in that moment, it felt as though it was all she knew. Grimy hands found their way into her hair, yanking and pulling for no reason other than to spike pain that would keep her awake.

Minutes before, Cleo'd been a belle of all kinds: ginger hair falling down her open shoulders in rolling waves, not a blemish on her body save for a bandage on her cheek. Even then it had come as a natural accompaniment, as though it had always been there and was always supposed to be. Seeing as she was now, it was hard to imagine. Oh, how quickly one could fall from grace.

Wrath trickled from her body, emanating a fearful presence even as she was beaten six feet under. Whatever she'd done to provoke the ire of her assailant evaded her clouded mind, blurred by the agony violently spiking through her. She hadn't even a moment to question--immediately thrown to the ground and wailed on with all their strength. By the gods, she hadn't even seen their face yet. And she doubted that she would. Black specks defaced her vision, piling up and blocking out much of her sight. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she found it wouldn't replenish. 

As she slipped into unconsciousness, a singular thought consumed her mind. _If I die, someone better avenge me._

...Though she certainly felt as though she might, Cleo did not meet her untimely demise just yet.

Her eyes reopened at the cusp of the night, and she didn't make a motion to arise until the sky had faded fully to black. The dull pain that had settled into a near-null background hum burst into a symphony of torture as soon as she bent to sit up. "Augh, goddammit," she hissed. Her emerald eyes flickered up to the graffiti-decorated brick walls of downtown, scanning the surrounding buildings for her attacker. They were nowhere in sight. She growled. "Fucking bastard. Left me to die."

Heaving herself onto her feet, she did not account for the wave of nausea that hit her like a truck, swaying her body and forcing her to lean against one of the dusty alley walls. The blood left her face, vision spotting up again and going completely dark, but not knocking her out completely. Carefully, she lowered herself back onto the ground before trying again. This time with much more success. _How long have I been out?_

She'd been attacked near about late noon and it was settled into night when she finally got up. _Basic math, don't fail me now._ About maybe eight hours? Who knows? She was never one for math. But, on the off chance it had actually been that long, she would've been missing from her home for long enough that any normal family would've begun to worry about her, especially considering she had no friends to hang around and 'lose track of time' with. Key word: normal. Lucky for Cleo, her family was anything but. No one would give a damn if she didn't come back home for a month, much less a measly eight hours.

Cold biting at her skin and pain rocketing through her wounds, she persisted nevertheless in her trek back to the residentials to get back to her poor-excuse-for-a-home. For a short moment, she mused the ethics of faking her death--just for a reaction. In the end, she opted it was too much work. _No big deal. I'll die some other day._

When she finally reached her house, she popped the door open without much of a second thought. No need for a key if your locks didn't work, right? 

A dim light encased the living room and the doorway, flickering from the television as it broadcast something she didn't know or care for. The shadows of the sofa and the figures sat upon it cast across the room, neither shadow shifting even an inch at her arrival. The door creaked uncomfortably as she pushed it shut behind her. Hooking a finger in the inside of her shoe, she pulled it off, repeating the action with the other and haphazardly throwing the pair vaguely towards the door for tomorrow. 

Cleo makes towards the bathroom to treat the slice on her arm (which has bruised heavily and aches dreadfully; the dried blood pulls painfully on her skin) but bites her lip and turns to her room instead. Might as well let it fester. There's no need to busy herself with little things like that when her body tingles and groans with every movement. Did they even have anything to treat it? She doubted it. She opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her, going an extra step to lock it as well, and stumbled in the dark to collapse on her mattress. Despite the hours she'd spent unconscious, exhaustion overcame her swiftly and the night passed by just as swift.

* * *

The dawn light glittered in her eyes, feeling all too chipper for the occasion. Leaves crunched beneath her feet, having descended from the trees weeks before they now lay a disheveled collection of corpses on the park ground. It's brisk and icy and she wishes she had brought a coat of some sort on her trip. The day before had been warmer, but she should have known better than to trust weather patterns. Her hands are brought up to caress her upper arms, drawing out little warmth with the friction. It was near empty in the park. Only a fool would be out in the cold for leisure. She was certainly a fool.

Cleo had left her house with the intent of heading down to Escuela Secundaria High School to attend her classes, but somewhere along the way she'd all but abandoned her bag and the plan; and when she finally clocked in, she was halfway to the park and about an hour into the school day. She'd stopped. Considered turning back. Then she pushed forwards because only cowards second guess their subconscious mind. According to her dad at least.

 _Gods, I'm an idiot. I should turn around and go home._ She fought herself internally, puffing out a breath that clouded the air. _I_ must _be a dumb fuck to go back downtown after getting attacked._

She drifts over to a bench by a railed cliffside. The view is sweet, but the seat is sweeter. It's a typical bench, slightly worn and broken with splintering wood and unhidden nails, a chipped paint façade of care and small messages carved and drawn into the oak, but it's easily one of the best things she's seen in hours. Legs aching and arm throbbing dully, she settles herself on the seat, lightly groaning in satisfaction. She tucked a strand of loose orange hair behind her ear, opening her mouth to whisper something out into the winter when she was smacked in the face by something thick. 

Her eyes snapped open. "The fuck-?" The object dropped and slumped against her side. She grabbed it, furrowing her brow at the newspaper in her hands. "Who left this to blow away?" She shoved herself up, glancing down at the paper as she moved towards the recycling bin. Truth be told, she'd always wanted to be a journalist. The idea of someone out there, watching, reporting, and _in control_. It seemed luxurious. Perfect. Maybe she was just self-centered, but she longed to be in control of _something_ in her life, even if it was just words on a page.

The paper was from October 17th. _Today_. She only got to read part of the headline by the time she reached the garbage bin and scoffed at it.

" ** _SUSPECTED SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE - EXECUTING_** "

Bullshit. Impossible. That's too much work for one killer to get away with. Huffing, she crumbled up the newspaper and dumped it in the bin, returning to her seat. And she relaxed. The wind whistled calmly in her ears, blowing the leaves around in a way that entertainingly reminded her of someone stepping on leaves. Much to her chagrin, her heart dipped into her stomach as a hand clutched her shoulder wheeling her around.

She gets half a second glance that tells her this was the same guy to attack her yesterday when a fist is thrown to her face, throwing off her balance and sending her tumbling off the bench. She's started to lift herself when they swing themselves over the back of the seat and land beside her, scooping her up by the back of her shirt and near instantaneously swapping that hold for one on her throat. They step forwards swiftly and Cleo has hardly a moment to wrap her head around what's happened when she finds herself being leaned over the rail. 

They growl out, "Your bloodline should have died out long ago." She has a moment. She doesn't know if it's hesitation or to relish in the moment, but she has a moment to allow the dread and fear to sink in. Lucky for her, it's only a moment of fear when her demise hits.

The last thing she feels is the fingers around her throat releasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't clear, cleo is a teen and, currently, a human. the 'au' is a mixture of minecraft and modern and she is not yet in hermitcraft. she acts a bit ooc because obviously she's younger and her personality isn't fully shaped yet. a l s o  
> did i name the high school 'high school high school'? yes.  
> am i sorry? no.
> 
> in other news: inrbip is still on hiatus because i'm without the planning things (still).  
> in other other news: i thought the words "mumbo jumbo is a sexy beast" today.


	2. It gets Better, Yes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah. So, he must know her, if she knew him.

The blond burst out a symphony of giggles, alighting the air in such a way you might have thought fireflies filled every inch of the sky. His fingers intertwined with those of his companions, the trio twirling around in the sand-and-rotted-wood-chip-filled box of the playground, the simplistic dance bubbling up enjoyment beyond belief. Birds twittered from the treetops as it settled into noon.

He crouched down and flexed his hands in the sand, grasping bunches of the grains and then spinning into a stand, spraying sand everywhere as his friends let out shrieks of enjoyment and dodged. He hadn't known either of them for more than a day, and they seemed to know each other pretty well, but as soon as he arrived, they practically jumped at him, dragging him into their little clique to play a game of tag. That said, their names were utterly lost on him. No big deal. The other blond leapt into his arms, arms slinging around his waist as he tried to lift the other up. Tango tightened his arms around him and raised him up, his playmate squealing as he let out what he thought was a ferocious roar and the brunette clapped and laughed.

The brunette released a small "oomph" sound that snatched up his attention. A woman who resembled him greatly pulled at his wrist as he pouted, murmuring atypical "Come on, baby"s as he whined about wanting to stay. A blond man had begun to approach as well and Tango felt his happiness dip. His own mother would take him away as well, obviously, but he'd hoped that they'd stick around for at least a bit longer. Nevertheless, he was all alone in an instant, little more than a tiny wave in his direction. He flopped onto the sand; soft brown eyes directed at the rotted wood chips.

Other days, the stench was clear, musty and filling his nostrils and choking out the scent of scattered patches of four o'clocks and dandelions that popped out of the thick plastic edges of the park. His skin often ended up red and slightly itchy, but his mother always passed it off as too much roughhousing. In hindsight, he was probably allergic to the wood chips used in the playground cushioning. Not the point though. Today, the startlingly thick _rot_ was replaced by a faint nutty smell he couldn't quite place. Chestnuts? No. Peanuts? No. Walnuts? No... Almonds? Yeah, almonds seemed about right.

He bobbed to his feet, swaying slightly with faint exhaustion. He begun to seek out the smell, spinning around metal that burned his fingertips and trying not to hit his face on plastic as he bounced to try and grab things, only to find the source by bumping into a woman. Her face curled into a pleasant smile at the sight of him, crouching down to meet his face. The almond smell blossomed from her, reaching out and entangling itself around his senses. Thick and all-present and it reminded him of home. Her face was familiar, but just a stretch from his reach into his mind. He was sure he remembered her, but from where?

Her skin was soft when he took it, being raised onto his feet. His hand fit into the curves of her hand and it prompted a little smile to see the tone of her palm nearly matched that of his entire hand. It was just a bit darker, pigmentation faded from the rest of her brown skin. Her eyes--a friendly aquamarine--smiled with the same enthusiasm of her actual grin. She released him and pushed back one of her warm brown dreadlocks, "Good morning, Tango!" Ah. So, he must know her, if she knew him.

Tango smiled back at her, albeit with a pause of hesitation. Her's faltered for a second. A tooth stabbed his inner lip. He must've upset her. She pursed her lips, settling from a dainty crouch to a crisscross position but remaining at the same level as him. "You must have forgotten me, didn't you, little buddy?" His eyes flickered to the ground in embarrassment and shame. "Don't worry about it! You and I haven't seen each other in a long time. Your mommy asked me to pick you up for her. You wanna come with me, hon? It looks like all of your friends have already gone."

He twisted his upper body to view the desolate park. She was right. His playmates had gone a long time ago and he assumed in the time he'd taken to investigate, even the teens (who huffed and puffed at wooden sticks his mother liked too) had left him alone. She must've been waiting for him for a long time and he felt bad about it too. The lady pat his head, and he turned back. "Mmhm," he responded, nodding his head. 

She held out her hands and hoisted him into her arms, shifting him into a piggyback position on her shoulders. He nuzzled into her hair, idly slipping one of the locks into his grip, thumbing the design as if he were trying to pull it apart. The heavy scent of almonds spilled into his nose, boiling down to his bones and swallowing up every other scent he thought he could smell. It effectively blocked out everything he thought there was, focusing on nothing but how warm and sleepy he felt all the way up on her shoulders. Nothing could touch him. He was... safe.

Tango wasn't sure when he fell asleep.

* * *

When he woke up, he took a deep breath and he _choked_.

A cloth around his lower face made itself known quicker than his surroundings, squeezing around his mouth and nose. The little air that slipped through the tiny gaps was stifling, hot and suffocating. It clawed at his throat and left him more gasping for air than fulfilled. The heat boiled on his skin, wrapping around him and stabbing tiny volcanic pinpricks onto his form. And it smelled like her -- but _bitter._ Petite hands found their way to the edge of the cloth, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he squeezed them shut and hyperventilated, tugging every which way to try and remove it from his face. 

_I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe._ Tiny sobs released from his throat as he finally managed to hook his fingers under the cloth and pull it away from his face. He pulled the cloth down, unable to fit it over his head, and settled it as some sort of oversized bandana. Palming at his eyes to try and silence his tears, he peered at his surroundings. The only thing that quite clocked in was that it was unbelievably _red_. And he was in a cage.

A simple box, black wires netted together and unmoving when he pressed them with his fingertips. He wasn't cramped or anything -- he could sit up fully on his legs, but he couldn't stand, and it was hard to turn around fully. But he still felt so, so encased. His body ached and he didn't know why, and his head pounded in his skull. He pulled his arm up to his head, meaning to press a palm to his temple, only for his arm to stop mid-air with a yank from metal that hung loosely around his wrist. The moment it met his skin, he let out a bloodcurdling, agonized _scream_...And chuckle sounded from just behind him.

Tears bubbled in his eyes, vaporizing the moment they slid onto his cheeks. He quivered in place, unable to bring himself to move his body for fear of disturbing the cuffs and burning himself yet again. His skin boiled at the touch of the still-flaming metal and he sobbed silently. The person's footsteps clunked behind him, approaching the cage, and then it caved in.

His eyes snap open in what feels like an instant. His body screams out in agony with every tiny movement he makes. Bitter almond poisons his senses, lulling him into what feels like a state of partial wakeness, the only thing keeping his eyes open being the pain and the heat. Metal wires (rope?) wraps around his torso, making him unable to bend, and his lower legs, making him unable to thrash. His arms are kept free, but he isn't sure for how long they will be. Everything is a blur, and he hardly manages to recognize anything.

Almonds. Red. Black. Red. Red. _Almonds._ People. Red. Red. Red. Almonds. Almonds-- _Her_.

The woman stands to his right. Her outfit has changed--she now adorns a pitch-black cloak--and the soft expression she showed him when she took him away has vanished, but he knows it's her. In the fuzz of his mind, he reaches out to her with a broken sob. Anything, anyone who could get him out of this hell, where his head pounds and his body screams and he can't move on his own and there's strange people who look at him like meat--he sobs again. She hardly spares him a glance, nodding to a few others gathered in a circle around him. " _P-Ple, plea-se_ ," he cries, croaking voice weak and choked out by salt and screams.

Her hands lift and a minute spark of hope blossoms in his throat. They find their way to the sides of her lowered hood, which she lifts onto her head. _Bitter_. She produces a blade from her sleeve, the metal dark and twisting. _So bitter_. Her mouth opens and she spews words he doesn't understand nor recognize, the melody just barely enough for him to acknowledge it as a chant. The pain in his form swells until it encompasses every inch of space and he thrashes and swings with all his might. 

Then it all goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the description of cultist lady was given to me by my buddy peregrine234 (you can find her here on ao3 owo) even though she had absolutely no clue who she was describing haha
> 
> aLSO SORRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE WEEKS I KEPT LOSING MOTIVATION AND GETTING DISTRACTED AND SCHOOLWORK AND--


End file.
